Sunday Mornings

I have a love/hate relationship with 1:00 church. I love it when I can get my trash together--iron all clothes, bathe, get ready, throw dinner in a crock pot, clean up, leave early for church, enjoy church and come home to a clean house with dinner ready. I hate it when I don't have my trash together--scramble for hours for something decent to wear, rummage the cupboards for dinner, hurriedly dress Will in any shirt that doesn't need to be ironed, bark at Will to eat his lunch, get his shoes on and get in the car because we are going to be late again and then come home to a house in shambles and nothing to eat, feel far too exhausted to make anything but breakfast for dinner and neglect the dishes until the next day. Unfortunately, my Sunday mornings tend to be more like the latter than the former (in fact, one Sunday not too long ago, I ran out of the house in such a rush I forgot to feed Will lunch. We were sitting in church and he started crying, "I want a sandwich. I want a sandwich!" What kind of mother am I? Please don't call Child Protective Services on me).

This Sunday, however, I had it together, so much so that we even had a chance to enjoy some jump around time in our Sunday clothes (of course, we ended up being barely on time for church because Will had to go to the bathroom right as we were about to leave and he takes forever to go to the bathroom--like three stories, lots of encouraging, some "I just need a little privacy" time and then, of course, the "Come wipe me" time as well). So, during our jump around time, I had to snap some photos for the good ol' blog--not only because he was so cute but also so that I could document that I was, at least once this year, on time for church. (It may never happen again).

How to Go Camping in Upstate New York

If ever you decide to go camping in New York state, then I'm sure you'll appreciate some advice. So, here it is: how to go camping in upstate New York, Madsen-style.

1. Attain a large bag with which to fill the most important items: one cute, very excited little three-year-old and all 3 of your memory foam pillows (this is a must for one very pregnant woman--yes, those pillows were all for me).

2. Put your hubby, who can do anything, in charge of most things--such as packing, putting up the tent, cooking most meals. Really, I insist everyone go camping with Josh. It is just so much fun and so little work.

3. Snuggle, snuggle, snuggle in your two-man tent filled with three-and-a-half people (really, you have no choice but to snuggle in your two-man tent filled with three-and-a-half people).

4. Bring lots and lots of bug spray--mosquitoes are rampant in these parts.
5. Take a moonlit dip nightly to get rid of nasty bug spray.

6. Pose on any and all rocks for a picture. But it is important that you be this cute:

7. Pray that your little guy does not trip and fall over the innumerable rocks, stumps and holes that dot the campsite. Or start a forest fire. Camping with this little guy keeps you on your toes.
8. Enjoy the beautiful scenery that surrounds you. Upstate NY is so very pretty.

9. Bring lots and lots of junk food (this is really camping Spear-style, but a tradition I insisted we keep. Will, who had never had licorice before, referred to them as, "My red camping sticks").
10. Bring a beach chair so that the pregnant woman can have a place to sit in the two-seated canoe (did I mention we canoe-camped? We fit everything we needed, including us, inside that one canoe. That was some trip to our campsite).

11. While sitting in that beach chair in said canoe, sit back, relax and let your hubby do all the work. (This was his view). And if you're a boy named Will, demand your dada to "Go get that duck!" or "Go see that rock!" and then proceed to let your dada do all that work while going to said duck or said rock.

12. Have a great time being in nature, bonding as a little family, eating s'mores around the campfire and enjoying your first real family camping trip.

This Ain't No Potbelly, People

A few weeks ago, while grocery shopping, a cute little old man came up to me and stated matter-of-factly, "You're having a baby!" I smiled and told him that I was and he was all kindness and congratulations when his wife pulls up with her little cart and reprimands her husband, saying, "You can't just go up to people and tell them they're having a baby--they might just have potbellies!" The cute man points at me and responds with, "That ain't no potbelly." No sir, this sure ain't no potbelly, this is a baby, a big one I might add. So here I am in all my glory at 25+weeks (yes, the + is very important). And as you can clearly see, this sure ain't no potbelly.

I may be huge and I may have a double-chin already, but doesn't my hair look great? Pregnancy is great for hair, at least! (I insisted on getting a pregnancy shot before church so that I at least looked decent and was wearing something besides sweatpants, my outfit of choice these days. I'm lovin' the maxi dresses. They hide the already swelling ankles. Darn this dang humidity. I've had about enough, already).
And Will had to get in on the action, too, of course, giving me some kisses while I made a funny little face. That boy is too cute and really is my best accessory! Now, if you know what is good for you, you will proceed to comment on how darling, how small, how beautiful I look as a pregnant lady (unlike most of the comments I receive while at church, such as, "Wow. You are going to be big," or "Are you having twins?" or "How much longer do you have?"). Let the comments begin.....

Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad Swimming Classes?

Will: the little boy who fears almost nothing. He's not afraid of the big slide at the park; he's not afraid to jump off anything, no matter how high; he never feared nursery; he giggles when big dogs lick him; scary stories are his favorite; the dark--he treasures it. What is this little boy, this feisty, determined little boy, afraid of, you may wonder? Why, the big, bad swimming classes, of course.

Who knows the reason? He loves the kiddie pool. He loves the big pool when swimming with dada. But one look from Miss Stephanie and the child is in full-on tears, clinging-mode and absolute hysteria.

Here's the kiddie pool, notice no fear--no sense of danger (or common sense for that matter):

And here he is with Miss Stephanie (and this is how he was the.whole.class.long for every.single.class):

Poor Will--apparently his mama tortures him. But torture him no more. Seven weeks of this was enough for both of us. Until next year, I suppose.

P.S. Today we went swimming at the Y, just in the kiddie pool because the big pool was closed due to swimming classes. Will was having a ball, as usual, oblivious to the swimming classes going on around him. That is until Miss Stephanie appears. The mere sight of her (a full month after swim classes had ended) sent him into hysterics, running to me, crying, "I don't wanna go to swim cwasses, I don't wanna go to swim cwasses." Scarred for life, I tell you (and it isn't Ms. Stephanie. She's no warm and fuzzy but she isn't mean).